In the iris of the night
we search.

Light beckons us forth.

Deeply held, secrets we
find...

stars sparkle into view.

I am a mighty oak
hiding in an acorn.

Many words swirl
inside.

In motion this poet
seeks devotion.

As the winds blow
my poetry grows.

Tomorrow I dream,
slowly becoming...

New spurts shoot
forth

reaching toward the
sunlight.

Each day I rise like
the truth,

I am the poem!

The rain falls on the sidewalk. Splashing in puddles.  A face emerges.  Welcome to a new town.

Magazine Bulletin:
reclaiming space
within my mind.

Yellow sun
for you my
eyes burn.

Sure no more, indeed these days are long.  At risk with the asterik, my smile sinks.  The bulb buzzes beside my bedside, a dim light I see. Playing cards are strewn across my sheets, a black bic pen awaits accord. As the words rest, the mind sleeps, dark is the night.

My finger paints
a clear reflection.